Seaweed
by ingvild
Summary: A different story, which I personally think is cute. Just read the A/N, and then you can decide if you want to read the story. Contains tiny spoilers for Uncanny X-Men #395.


A/N: I have three other stories I ought to be writing

Disclaimer: The X-Men and their world belong to Marvel. Mutopia, its inhabitants and the crew on the ship are all mine. 

A/N: I have three other stories I ought to be writing. But this is what's in my head at the moment. 

Those of you who read Uncanny X-Men #395, saw a huge mutant colony under London – filled with the children of "the dark side of mutation", as Nightcrawler put it. Those who can't live other places. You also saw Wolverine suggest that it'd be smart to get them out of the city, so they could stay hidden.

For those who haven't read this issue, I won't say what happened to this colony... The important thing is that I started thinking: There has to be other colonies like that other places. What if they _were_ placed in a secret place, some sort of – I named it Mutopia. Then I started thinking of what kind of people would live there. Then I went swimming. 

And thus, the main character of this story was born.

Just on spite, I put the colony she's from in my own, beloved hometown. (All those from eastern Norway can snigger till they get a nosebleed; I don't care a tiny bit.) Why aren't there _any_ mutants from Scandinavia? That bothers me.

Oh, blah. If you're still there; here's the story.

From Fata Morgana with love,

__

Seaweed

Edwin Callary walked down the grassy hill towards the small lake in the valley that had recently become the home of thousands of mutants. It was hidden by a gigantic hologram, making it look as if there was a mountain there, not a valley. Other instruments had been put up to confuse the radar and such which might "see" through the hologram. Everything so the habitants of Mutopia could live in peace.

Edwin himself was a mutant. Part of his mutation was an incredible memory. He could repeat everything he'd ever heard verbatim. The thing that made it impossible for him to live among normal people had nothing to do with this. The fact that his fingers would fall of every ten minutes, then grow out again in three, made him leave home when he was thirteen.

But on account of his memory, he'd been elected a teacher for many of the other mutants here. At the moment, he was on his way to one of his favourite pupils. One who couldn't live with the rest.

"Inklin?" he called. "Are you there?" He saw a shadow moving in the water, and then a young girl of sixteen years came up to the surface.

"Hi, Edwin," she said brightly, smiling happily at him. Edwin felt himself smiling back. 

"Hello, sweetheart," he said fondly. "How are you?"

"Fine. How are you?"

"Better now, from just seeing you."

She giggled. It was like hearing a small brook. "Flatterer." She pulled her body up on the bank, and squeezed the water from her short hair. "My homework is over there." She pointed.

"Yes, I know," Edwin said. "Listen, it isn't school today. Saturday, you know. But I brought you something." He reached back and brought something out of a small bag he had with him.

"It's a knife, of the type divers use. So you won't have to catch fish with a stick anymore."

Her face lighted up. "Thanks, Edwin! Oh, it's perfect! Thank you so much!"

__

Just keep smiling like that, child, and I'll have all the thanks I'll ever need, Edwin thought.

"Edwin?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"See you in a week or so!"

"What!?" He turned, just in time to see her disappear in the water. Her thought came back to him:  
*_I'm just going to explore a bit! This lake goes out to the sea; I've missed salt water. I'll be fine, honest! I mean, what can happen to _me_ in the sea?*_

Then she was gone.

*****

My name is Ingelin Noreneset. I was born in Bergen, Norway. A town that through time has relied heavily on shipping and fishing. Where the old, Haseatic buildings on the harbour are one of the main tourist attractions, and are on the UNESCO World Heritage List. The southernmost point on "Hurtigruta", the boat line that sails up the coast of Norway, from Bergen to Kirkenes in north, one of the most beautiful boat rides in the whole world. The same trip fishermen used in the old days, when they brought their goods to the trading centre Bergen was at that time.

I've always loved being in the water. In the winter, spring and autumn, I spent my spare time in the indoors swimming pool, "Sentralbadet". When it opened, I went to the outdoors swimmingplace Nordnes. (Kinda like my name, huh? Connection?) Or I would talk my parents into driving to Grønneviken. Another place where you can bathe.

"Why don't you just grow gills?" my mother asked me once. That was a year before I started changing.

The mutant colony at home wasn't very big, but it was the nicest, I'm sure. Historians would have loved seeing it...Under the harbour, an old Hanseatic boathouse. In the middle of the city.

I had most freedom of all, since I have a functional set of gills in addition to my lungs. I always dreamed of hitching a ride with "Hurtigruta", going north. Cold water doesn't bother me, since my body just adjusts to changes in temperature. I know that it changes, it just doesn't affect me. Do you have any idea what that's like? Total freedom. I think the one who would understand me best, is one of those who helped set up Mutopia, the X-Man they call Archangel. He, too, has the total freedom of flight...Except he goes in the air, and I go in the water.

For many, being a mutant is a curse. Like Alastair. He can't touch any organic material without it melting away. He has to dress in plastic. Or poor Elayne, who's allergic to dihydrogenmonoxyde. H2O. Water. She can't get water on her skin. Even a bit of moisture hurts. When those X-People who brought us here gave her some sort of vibro shower, it was the first time she'd been clean in ten years. For me, the very idea is unthinkable.

My mutation isn't a curse, it's a blessing. When my eyes adjust to underwater seeing, I see things other could just dream of. I can dive further down than a sperm whale, which can dive as far as 3000 metres. 

Now, I can taste the salt in the water. I've reached the ocean. The scenery has changed, and an incredible flora opens in front of me. The fauna is amazing, too. Everywhere, I see something moving. Do you know how beautiful it is under water? That incredible amount of _life_, combined with a calm you just don't get on land. Not being bound by gravity, but floating around in your own, private world.

Suddenly, I taste something foul. Something that itches on my skin, makes my eyes hurt. I search for the source, and finds it: Something is being lowered from a ship a short distance from me. 

I swim upwards and towards it. The foul taste makes me sick, the itching on my skin and in my eyes hurts. The stench turns my stomach. And I feel a rage filling me. These bastards are dumping some chemical waste in the ocean, where they think it can't do any harm.

But it does. Unable to stay in the water anymore, I make a flying jump and lands on the anchor hanging on the side of the ship. Dizziness fills me while my gills stop working and my lungs take over. My eyes adjust to overwater seeing, my fins settle in against my skin, and the water plugs leave my ears. Then a net falls around me, and I'm hauled on board. 

They are staring at their catch. Of course, it's not often they meet a girl with seagreen hair dressed in only a bathing suit 500 kilometres from shore. There's curiosity in their eyes, but also anger, hate and fright.

"'Ey, it's a mutie," one of them say. I roll my eyes. 

"No, it's the daughter of Poseidon," I reply. He stares dumbly at me, probably trying to figure out if I'm joking or what. Another looks at me as if he's trying to place my accent, or something.

The one who looks in charge clears his throat. "We'll figure out what to do with her when we come home. For now, release the net with the barrels and get up the hook."

Ooops. I'm in trouble. It'll take them a long while to get to shore, and the only little problem I've ever had with my mutation is that in an hour, my skin will start drying out. Before they realise something's happening, I'll be half dead from dehydration. Besides, I can't let them leave their filth here. Time for desperate measures.

The X-Woman they call Phoenix figured that I developed telepathy simply so I could communicate when under water. I haven't had much training, but what I'm about to do doesn't require much. Not a subtle attack. What I have to do, is to reach every of their minds, and let loose.

Not thoughts. Feelings. I reach out, feel that I'll reach every human mind within a certain radius, and open the channels. I let them feel it.

Their eyes open in surprise. Some collapse to the deck, some move their hands to their heads in a gesture on pain. Some stagger, stricken. None escape. They feel it, all of them. 

Yes, _feel_ the sea bleeding.

__

Taste the pain you have inflicted upon her.

__

Hear the anguished cries of her children.

__

Know what you have done. Feel the pain as if it were your own, and _never_ do anything like this again!

When I finally release them, they pull up the net with the barrels of chemical waste without a word. Then they cut my bonds, and take me south, as I requested. Not north, the direction I came from. What, do you honestly think I would lead them towards Mutopia? Don't be daft. 

What I just did is just a – a drop in the sea. Others will continue pollute it, even if these guys won't. And I did nothing to make them feel better towards mutants, rather the opposite. But hey, I'm sixteen. What do you expect?

Right before I jump into the ocean, I send them a new message. A feeling of the sea at peace. I see worrylines etch out, and one of them actually smiles at me. I grin back, and jump down to the wet environment.

It's a long swim home, and Edwin and the others are probably worrying sick. But I hope...

Yes! There they come! The true owners of the sea. Those who play in it, while living, hunting, breeding in it. The sailors' luckbringers. These guys _are_ the ocean.

Dolphins.

Bottle-nosed dolphins, to be exact. _Tursiops truncatus_.

Seventeen of them.

Through bodylanguage and sent emotions I try to make them understand that I am very far from home. Is it possible to hitch a ride?

I don't know if they get the message, but they are going in my direction anyway. I grip hold of the fin on the back of one of them, and let myself be towed. My heart cries out in joy from it.

What, a curse being a mutant?

For some, maybe.

Not for me.

A/N: And that's it.

Anybody but me who wishes they were Ingelin? 


End file.
